I Should Have Known
by Penn Flinn
Summary: I should have known then that he wasn’t interested in my book as much as he was with his Civil War movies.' Riley gives Ben a special Christmas present, but gets a shocking realization in return. Slightly angsty. One-Shot. No slash.


**I'm back!**

**First of all, I'd just like to apologize for my general lack of story posting on here. I know, I abandoned my story, AugNoWriMo. Trust me, it kills me. I just haven't been getting those creative sparks lately. I'm not trying to make excuses for slowly torturing all of you readers, I'm just saying.**

**Anyway, I'd like to thank my editor for helping with this. And my muse, of course.**

**Just a warning to all of my fellow emotional people out there, this gets rather sad at the end. Not in a character death kind of way, but in a I-want-to-give-Riley-a-hug kind of way.**

**Disclaimer: I still do not own National Treasure, or Riley's book. Though I wish I could read it.**

-

First of all, I should have known that I was going to be a writer of some sort. How could I not, when I was friends when Ben Gates, the king of all things adventurous? I was practically living in the world of stories. Of course, I would always come back to my love of technology—at the time I thought I had to choose between writing and my technology, and in the end I simply knew that I was wired to all things computerized. So I pushed my other desires aside.

But, eventually, after Ben's exploits became more and more plot-worthy, I couldn't resist. In spare moments (when I wasn't otherwise engaged in some potentially life-threatening treasure hunt, of course) I would type up the latest pieces of story that I wanted to fit in. It took less time than I expected to finish my manuscript. Granted, it was only fifty pages or so, but, hey, I was a budding author.

I finished at the beginning of December, right around that time when I usually start going into panic mode about what to get Ben for Christmas. I mean, books always work, but, really, how many books can one guy have?

That's when it dawned on me—I'd written a book, right? And Ben was my best friend. It would probably be an honor to him to be the first to read my debut novel. And it would undoubtedly boost my self-confidence and pride by sharing my very own man-baby with someone else.

So, it may have been a little self-promoting, but, hey, throw in an old civil war documentary DVD set and you've got a brilliant Christmas present. I found myself bubbling with joy (a rare occurrence, trust me) as I sat on the floor near the printer on Christmas Eve, watching page after page of MY book slide out into a nice neat pile. I could hardly contain my excitement when I lifted up the healthy stack of paper and straightened it out, feeling the heat of the press radiating from the pages. The heat of life. My story was alive. I think my heart swelled with pride then, but I honestly don't remember. I was too busy tying a beautiful red ribbon around the stack, securing the pages together. I then placed the package gently in a box, patting down my book and the tissue paper around it.

I still remember closing the box and wrapping it carefully. I still remember that feeling when I carried the gift to the stunted Christmas tree and felt the life-heat seeping from the box. I set the box down with a proud smile on my face.

Christmas morning. Me, rushing to wake up Ben at the crack of dawn as usual. Ben, struggling to stay awake, making coffee. The present opening time, crazy as usual. Present time was always an odd occurrence, because nearly all of the presents under the tree were from distant family members that weren't present. Me and Ben only gave each other one gift, so there was technically only one person to thank. Although, I do sometimes send up a word of thanks to the heavens, as if my relatives in other states can somehow hear my appreciation.

Ben opened his Civil War video from me first. Who knows how anyone could like those types of things, but his face lit up when he saw it. A genuine sense of happiness. He's just strange, I guess. He was probably thinking the same thing when I opened up his gift and found a full set of all six Star Wars DVDs. I immediately punched the air in triumph. Come on, you have to release the inner nerd sometimes.

My jubilation was short lived, however, quickly changing to extreme nervousness when Ben picked up The Box. The box that contained my precious work, the baby I'd wrapped up so carefully. I chewed my lip as he ripped open the wrapping paper and threw off the lid of the box. _Careful, careful…_ Ben wasn't exactly a vicious present-opener, but I was afraid that anything could bring harm to the precious bundle of life inside.

I watched his expression carefully as he saw what was inside. I felt slightly stupid in that moment—only girls are supposed to do this stuff. Only girls are supposed to analyze facial expressions and dissect each and every twitch of the eye and mouth. But I didn't care. I was too busy watching Ben's face light up as he digested what he read on the front page.

"'Journey in the Jungle,' by…Riley? You wrote a book?"

I smiled so hard I thought surely my face would rip apart and nodded enthusiastically. He gazed in awe for a while and thanked me profusely, then set the still-wrapped stack of paper next to my other gift to him. I should have known then that he wasn't interested in my book as much as he was with his Civil War movies. But my own pride and explosive happiness got in the way of me seeing that.

Months passed. The remembrance of that Christmas present had faded from my memory. We were back to our old adventures, the same old routine as before. One day, as I sat alone on the couch in Ben's apartment, cleaning out old files to make space on my laptop, I came across an old Word document. It was titled simply "book!" I opened the file curiously, a bit of old pride returning. Could it have been…

"Journey in the Jungle" was bolded, centered on the first page. I grinned, scrolling down. I hadn't looked at the story in ages. Work had been overwhelming (and I use the word "work" flexibly, so don't think I'm some sort of work-a-holic like Ben). That's when I saw the second page—a loose dedication page that I'd made up to make the whole document look official. "To Ben," it read. And when I looked at that, I remembered the Christmas gift. I looked around furtively. Ben was away, off in a meeting with some Ian guy. He wouldn't be back for quite a while.

I stood up and tip-toed (don't ask me why I tip-toed when nobody else was home) to Ben's room. The door was open, of course. Ben usually forgets to close it on his way out. I peeked inside, then scurried to the small bedside table in the far corner of the room. The top of the table was typical Ben, far too cluttered. But the small cupboard beneath was what I was interested in. Call me a sneak, but I know from…_past experience_ that Ben keeps all of his treasured items and trinkets under there. It was the only place I thought to look for my manuscript. It's not like I was going to touch anything or read his diary or anything (you're probably wondering now if Ben has a diary, but I refuse to say anything more on the matter).

When I opened the cupboard and saw that beautiful, glowing stack of paper resting on the shelf, the first thing I felt was joy. Joy at being the creator of something worthy enough to be placed in Ben's little treasure cabinet. But the joy was short-lived, for I saw then that the stack was still secured by that red ribbon I'd used so long ago. With shaking hands, I slowly removed the bundle from the shelf, hoping that for some reason Ben liked to re-tie the box in between reading periods. But, no. The bow was tied in a double-knot, and Ben never double-knots anything. I've gotten so used to tying my Converse that way that it naturally seeps into my gift-wrapping—yes, this was definitely the same bow that I had tied on Christmas Eve. There was only one conclusion I could draw up (and believe me, if there were more, I'd be taking them):

Ben had never touched the book. _My _book.

And the heat of life was gone from the pages.

I placed the manuscript back on the shelf, not quite as carefully as I'd taken it out (after all, Ben probably had been careless as well), and closed the cabinet door.

I should have known that I should have stopped writing then, that I would only face more disappointment from my best friend.

I stood, swallowing heavily.

I should have known that despite all of my efforts to make Ben proud, to be a best friend, he would never notice.

I walked heavily out of Ben's room, closed the door behind me without looking back.

I should have known that I would always be forgotten.

-

**I love hearing from all of you reviewers out there! Love it? Hate it? Want to give Riley a hug?**

**Thanks for reading!**

**EDIT: Question...I'm having a problem with my summaries. For some reason when I try to put a quote in it deletes the first set of quotation marks. Anyone know why this is/how to fix it? Thanks!**


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